The Grave in the Corner
by mnementh2000
Summary: What is with the grave in the far back corner of the cemetery? Who keeps tending it, and how is it always in perpetual summertime, even in the dead of winter? And, what if 'forever' wasn't a possibility, how might a certain someone react? Sad fic.


**Author's Note:** I do not own any rights to the A!MG universe, it's characters, or locations. They belong to Mr. Fujishima.

**The Grave In The Corner**

Two men strolled among the graves of the silent cemetery on a dreary, overcast, winter day. The first man was tall, slightly stooped, rounded of shoulder from years of work and age. He was thin, his face calm and relaxed, with graying hair and dark eyes that missed little, of obvious Oriental descent. The old man wore an older pair of sharply pressed pants, clean, polished dress shoes, and a long, heavy overcoat against the biting cold of the deep winter afternoon, whose chill touch affected everything.

The younger companion, by contrast, was roughly thirty years old, appeared to be of a more European ancestry, his face slightly rounded, as was his figure – though not necessarily obese – with an innocent look about him. He was clad in a pair of comfortable loafers, slacks that were neat, yet lacked the crisp creases of the older man's attire, a heavy winter coat of dark blue, and a pair of round-lensed glasses.

Snow hid the frozen ground and the tops of the silent sentinels that were the gravestones, blanketing the world in a thick veil of sound-muffling white, leaving the scenery in stark contrasts. The two men walked through this white expanse along pathways long-since memorized by the older of the two, discussing the new duties of the younger man, inspecting the grounds and headstones as they passed. They shivered unconsciously at the chill in the air, nipping at them through their heavy garb.

There were few out and about on this day, paying their respects to the departed at the site of their final rest, remembering loved ones and close acquaintances. There were few who observed the old ways in this day and age, much to the chagrin of the previous generations. The two walkers noted this sad fact as they weaved their way amongst the silent watchers, the headstones, last guardian and testament to those passed on and buried within the gates of the old cemetery.

"You know, used to be that loved ones and family members would visit these graves on a regular basis. Nowadays, I am about the only one who frequents them with any regularity, with but a few notable exceptions. I am finding fewer and fewer flowers, incense holders, and the like."

The older man frowned at his own observations, displeased at the lack of care and respect evident in the younger generation. His companion chose to remain silent at his comment, perhaps in accord, or maybe out of a sense of guilt.

"I could probably count on two hands the number of individuals who stop by their ancestors' graves – and one of those is me."

They were nearing the end of their trek among the forever-silent residents, approaching the far back corner of the fence-line. The old man began to smile a mischievous smile and glanced sideways at the younger.

"Would you like to see a sight? It's been this way since I took over as groundskeeper almost fifty years ago, and, from what I hear, since the day it was set – the day he was buried. It has remained a mystery since that time."

The man who was to become the new groundskeeper, looked back, a little nervous at the other's question and actions. Something in his companion's voice disturbed him, and he found himself wondering at the other man's sanity. They trudged onward a bit further, rounding the side of a large mausoleum, and soon all such doubts about the elder man's mental faculties melted away into oblivion, the younger man's mouth agape, the sight before him defying all known logic.

Whereas the world round about was swathed in a thick blanket of snow, captured in the frozen chill of Winter's grasp, appearing bleak and lifeless, this one plot of land in the far corner, away from the sight of prying eyes – containing a single grave – stood in contrast. The plot was a rectangle of land about ten feet by fifteen feet, containing a tree at the far end, next to the fence, the grave itself – with headstone near the tree – and, impossible as it seems, a thick carpet of lush grass, flowers, and green bushes at the base of the tree. The tree, which by rights should have been bare, was filled out completely, much healthier than it's companions, only feet away, during the height of summer. The whole scene looked like what one would expect of said season, not the deep cold of winter.

As he approached the rectangle of land, the soon-to-be groundskeeper noted the drastic change in the quality of the air within that space. It was warm, as befits the summer-like appearance, cleaner than the choked, pollution-filled air outside the boundaries, pleasant and refreshing to the senses. The warmth and fragrances therein – a mix of earthiness, grass, floral scents – tantalized the nose and other senses, evoking memories of happier times, but extended no further than the sharp boundaries of the plot of land – as if an invisible wall lay about it, or it lay just outside the bounds of the current time.

The man slowly moved further into that space, carefully stepping over the ring of flowers encircling the whole, as if hesitant to disturb whatever spell held sway – to catch a closer look at the headstone so lovingly tended within, with a vase of fresh flowers and a stick of incense slowly burning (although it looked as if it was not burning down) sitting upon a naturally flat stone beside the marble marker. As he neared the marker, he observed that it looked brand new, as if it had just been carved and placed this day. However, when he read the inscription, his eyes went wide incredulously. He read the words held thereon quietly aloud, his voice not even carrying to his companion not three feet away.

**Morisato Keiichi**

**1979 – 2098**

**Beloved Husband, Father, Brother**

**He was blessed in life with the love **

**of a Goddess, and in turn, blessed**

**the lives of all whom he touched, God**

**and Mortal alike.**

**Keiichi, my Love, I will forever remain at your side.**

"What… does the inscription mean? How is this grave and headstone like this – like _new_ – when it's over_ five_ _centuries_ old? Who is caring for it like this?"

"That's the mystery. I have my own theories about the young lady who is seen, ranging from her being a ghost to her actually being a goddess; you see, I have this photo, taken almost two hundred years ago by a previous curious caretaker," at which point he reached into a pocket within his coat and retrieved an old, battered picture, holding it out for the other man to take. In the photo was that same plot of land, the same tree, gravestone, flowers, but now there were eight individuals gathered around it – five of which had peculiar markings on their faces. The other three stood behind them, obviously distressed. "Usually, only this lady appears," and he indicated a beautiful woman of about twenty-five to thirty years of age, in the middle forefront of the assembled group, with long, flowing brown hair and piercing blue eyes. "The others accompany her on occasion, generally only in ones or twos. Every century, on the anniversary of his death, the entire group shows up. I have seen her on many occasions, myself, as well as a few of the others at one time or other, even though she shows up once a week, it seems. These two," and he pointed at a woman who appeared around ten years older than the first girl, with long, flowing silver hair and a stunning figure, as well as a girl who looked to be the junior by several years with black hair. He then pointed to the three in the back of the group and continued, "and these three have all been seen to accompany her the most. These other two have been with her a few times, but very rarely, mostly on the centennial dates of his passing."

"Where does she come from, and how does she still show up after five hundred years?"

"That's the mystery. Look closer at the headstone."

The younger man studied the marble. As he really looked, he became aware of a few things that he hadn't seen earlier – first, there was a wedding band imbedded within the stone just above the inscription, as if it had literally flowed around it when it was still forming; two, there was likewise a small decorative mirror imbedded within the stone, similar to the ring, only below the words immortalized there; and finally, the entire surface appeared to be encased in a thin layer of glass, or crystal, with the appearance of actually having been heated and shaped around the headstone, rather than having been made to cover it.

He pointed out these facts, and the elder man nodded.

"That's the crazy part. She appears and disappears through that mirror. Don't know if she's a ghost or not, but that mirror seems to be her link to the grave. When she arrives, she just stares, alternating between that there ring and the one that is on her hand, sobbing the whole time. After calming down eventually, she sings something you can't understand, even if it _is_ the most beautiful thing you will ever hear, and despite the fact that her eyes and the undercurrent of her voice bespeak of a heart-wrenching sadness and loss. The pain you see on her face is enough to make you wish to cry for her. Her song, however, has a peculiar effect – it rejuvenates the plot, bringing life back to the plants, reviving all here."

"If I hadn't seen this with my own eyes, I wouldn't have believed you. This… this all defies reason."

"Well, come on. Let's head on back, I'm anxious to get back inside. I want to go over a few things before you leave. Besides, the sky is darkening, and we need to get through this wretched snow and chill. It's rough on my old bones and joints."

"Hmph," was the only response, as the younger man took a last, lingering look over his shoulder at the plot of land that they had recently vacated.

**888888888888888**

The old groundskeeper officially retired a month later, leaving the cemetery's care – and the mystery of the grave in the corner – in the hands of the younger man. True to the old man's words, the plot of land in the far back corner seemed to ever reside in a perpetual state of summertime – always warm, blooming, green. It was a sight that never ceased to amaze the new custodian of the cemetery. Although he saw her only on occasion, he assumed that the young lady still visited the grave every week, for the lot was always renewed after the day that he assumed she showed up – the plants stood taller, the tree and grass greener, the air fresher and more fragrant – only to fade over time, until the next visit, when the whole process began again. Normally, when he saw the lady, it was a fleeting image as she was disappearing once again into the mirror in a blue glow.

Then, one day, as was inevitable, it happened. The caretaker had been at his job for several years now, had settled into a comfortable routine, and was slowly making his rounds, inspecting the grounds for signs of wear, vandalism (a sad occurrence that was taking place on a more regular basis nowadays), or anything else that required his attention, as well as placing new flowers and incense on the graves in lieu of their family. He was once more approaching that strange lot in the corner, away from the prying eyes of the few visitors who actually showed their respects anymore. He was again pondering the oddness surrounding the resident therein. He had at one point decided to research everything he could find out about the person within the grave – one Morisato Keiichi – and the woman who still visited him. It was mostly to pass the time one winter. What he found out was not much, unfortunately, as records of that time were more lax than in the following decades. Nowadays, _everything_ was documented for recordkeeping.

This Morisato fellow was born in 1979, in the Hokkaido region of Japan. He had gained some notoriety in a town called Nekomi, and the tech school that was there, though the town had since been incorporated into a larger city. He was a racer of motor vehicles for the school's 'Motor Club', a small club at the time that dealt with all things motor vehicle related. The club had gained in popularity after his stint within it, along with the young lady, Belldandy by name. In several of the photos that still survived from the time, that same girl was posing with him after winning some race or other, her smile beauteous and uplifting, her joy and love for him obvious. They had married several years later, and lived a long lifetime together. The groundskeeper had uncovered the death certificate for Mr. Morisato – after some major digging – showing him to have died of heart complications ant the age of one hundred nineteen years – an almost unheard of age at the time. Try as he might, he couldn't find any background on this 'Belldandy' woman – either before her appearance in Nekomi Tech's records as an exchange student (only in the computerized records, not the paper records, for some funny reason), nor even a death certificate for her.

As he thought on these things, he came upon the lot in question. Kneeling in front of the headstone, was the young lady from the photos, looking only a few years older than in them. He almost didn't see her before it was too late, so lost in his own ruminations was he. Her hand, her right hand, was placed on top of the marble for balance, as she traced the fingers of her left along the form of the ring entombed within the surface. She cried the entire time, and his heart broke at the sight and sound before him. In place of the bright, cheerful smile of the old pictures, the one that could illuminate the grayest day, warm the coldest heart, in place of the bright, joyous, azure eyes that pierced straight to your soul, was a sorrow so deep and consuming, that he found himself losing all hope, falling into the depths of despair. The smile was no longer on the lips of the face that was but a shadow of what it once had been, and the eyes looked dull, empty, devoid of the spirit that had once dwelled within; in short, the life had fled from the poor, broken creature that knelt before the grave.

The woman looked up from where her tears fell to the ground, and looked once more at her left hand, and the ring there. She fingered it for a while, caressing it lovingly, as if it were the most precious thing in the world, like nothing else mattered to her except that band. Her breath caught several times as she performed this odd ritual, memories racing through her tortured mind.

The brown-haired lass finally composed herself somewhat, then stood on uncertain legs. The caretaker stepped behind a nearby tree to escape notice. After several minutes, during which time she spoke something that he couldn't hear from his vantage point, she straightened her shoulders and began to sing. The melody instantly entranced the man with it's overwhelming beauty – so much so that he closed his eyes, letting the sound flow over, around, through him. The song was unlike anything that he had ever heard, and, though he could not understand a word that was sung, he could tell that it was meant to be uplifting, renewing. Had his eyes remained open, he would have observed what could only be described as a glowing angel-like creature emerge from the girl's back, also in deep sorrow, though infinitely beautiful, to join in the song.

After listening for a bit, he began to discern the undercurrents of pain, sorrow, reluctance, resignation, and, ultimately, deep yearning. It was as if she were_ forcing_ herself to sing the song, this melody of joy, while inside she died at the same time – as if the reason for her joy and happiness had been lost for all eternity, trapping her in eternal emptiness – forever alone, always longing for the touch that would never come, waiting for someone or something that would never again come to raise the veil of darkness that had descended upon her existence.

After some time, the song ended, breaking the spell that had fallen over the area. When he opened his eyes, he was startled to see one of the other women from the photo the old groundskeeper had shown him – a blue-haired woman of straight stature, three blue dots on her forehead – with her hand upon the girl's shoulder in sympathy, a similar expression of loss on her features. They nodded silently to each other, and the first girl once again crossed into the mirror. The other stared at the grave a moment longer, a myriad expressions and emotions flooding her face, before bowing to the man within the grave. She turned away and began to ascend into the sky, and then disappeared just as suddenly as she had arrived.

**88888888888888**

The groundskeeper eventually grew old and retired himself, passing on the legacy of the cemetery and it's accompanying mysteries to someone else, before passing away himself. The cycle continued for some time afterwards, through one man to another, all observing this same… odd… ritual week after week, for many years to come. Soon, as with many things, the old cemetery fell into disuse, disarray, disrepair, like so often happens after so long a time – becoming overgrown and tangled with weeds and out-of-control trees.

However, if anyone could push their way to the back corner of the lot, through the brush, the detritus of decades (perhaps even centuries) of neglect, they would find a ten foot by fifteen foot plot of land, containing a tree, at the base of which were bushes and a headstone (with a ring and a mirror in it's surface), all surrounded by a ring of flowers around the plot. The stone still gleamed as brightly and purely as the day of it's placement, not a scratch or a smudge upon it's pristine surface, even after all the centuries that had passed. A flash of light could be seen to glance off the metal of the ring or the reflective surface of the mirror within the stone slab.

And, if said visitor were extremely fortunate, once a week they might observe a sad, strange ritual, of a blue glow emanating from the depths of that mirror, followed by the appearance of a beautiful woman with long, brown hair, a forlorn look on her face, azure eyes filled with tears that could slice you to the quick, and then see her sing her peculiar song, and then once more return to wherever she had come, through the mirror.

And, if that person were discerning, they would come to know what true love and devotion were, and how it could withstand the test of time, and all the trials placed before it – including the last one that every mortal faces…

…Death.

**88888888888888**

_Alternate ending_

…could be seen to glance off the metal of the ring or the reflective surface of the mirror within the stone slab.

If said person_ could _make it to see this sight, they would most certainly feel privileged to also observe a young woman, who looked to be between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. She had long, flowing, light-brown hair, gorgeous azure eyes that would make them weak-kneed, a blue and white dress trimmed with yellow triangles. They would see a smile to light the darkest of days, and a joy on her face – yet, with an undercurrent of sorrow, tears rolling down her face. Her right hand rested on the headstone, her right on top, and her head laid over them both, as she sat next to it.

All this they would take in, along with the birds in flight, the motes of dust and pollen, the insects on the flowers – perhaps the bees floating from one bloom to the next. All this they would see, and yet, upon closer inspection, they would discern the tragic truth. Those tears upon the girl's face, did not fall; those piercing blue eyes, did not blink, did not see; the birds in flight, the bees busy with the flowers, all didn't move; the head resting on those delicate hands, would never again be raised in greeting to anyone. That ten foot by fifteen foot rectangle of land was forever frozen in time, through some strange means, so that she could fulfill her final promise to the man that once was known as Morisato Keiichi, husband of Belldandy, father to three beautiful daughters, son-in-law to Kami-sama, the one who captured the heart and soul of a goddess – binding her to him completely through his kindness and devotion.

And then, they would understand those words on the headstone, the last line:

"I will forever remain at your side."

That visitor would find that this silent scene, with her silent vigil, would stay as such forever more, as none could ever enter within the boundaries of that sad tableau.

And, if that person were discerning, they would come to know what true love and devotion were, and how it could withstand the test of time, and all the trials placed before it – including the last one that every mortal faces…

…Death.

**88888888888888**

**Author's Notes:** My previous A!MG story dealt with Keiichi getting his wish, as well as Belldandy – that of being together 'forever'. This came about as I contemplated what Bell would do if that eventuality never came about, rather if Keiichi remained mortal. A sad story, I know, but…


End file.
